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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012133">Alone Again (Again Alone)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Butter_Churner/pseuds/A_Butter_Churner'>A_Butter_Churner</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Domestic Fluff, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, but only for a little while, fluff in the beginning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:06:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Butter_Churner/pseuds/A_Butter_Churner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac looked up and blinked once, or maybe twice. Everything blurred together and his vision grew foggy. He reached out into the air to call for something, anything… but instead he just whimpered as his head fell back on the pillow, stained with fading memories and pieces of things he couldn’t understand.</p><p>This is how he was always meant to be in the end.</p><p>Alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Alone Again (Again Alone)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OKAY PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE GOING ON</p><p>TW//mention of terrorism<br/>TW//implied islamophobia<br/>TW//blood &amp; violence</p><p>Thank you for your time :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Courfeyrac looked up and blinked once, or maybe twice. Everything blurred together and his vision grew foggy. He reached out into the air to call for something, <em>anything…</em> but instead he just whimpered as his head fell back on the pillow, stained with fading memories and pieces of things he couldn’t understand.</p><p> </p><p>This is how he was always meant to be in the end.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Alone.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>~ 10:02 AM that day~</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Morning, sunshine.”</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac yelped at the sudden voice before seeing the face of who it belonged to. He let out a deep breath at his husband who was sitting at the foot of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you have to wake me up so early?” Courf pouted, <em>defjnitely</em> whining. Combeferre just raised an eyebrow at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Early? Darling, it’s 10:00 in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly! Early!”</p><p> </p><p>Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly and pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Get up. Or no kisses.”</p><p> </p><p>“But <em>Ferreeeee!”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Get up!” This statement was punctuated by a pillow being thrown at Courfeyrac, who started grumbling about—well he didn’t even know what. All he knew is that his husband is the cruelest person on the planet (but he gave the best kisses so it didn’t matter anyway).</p><p> </p><p>After Courfeyrac wrestled on some clothes and headed down to the kitchen to join Combeferre for breakfast, he noticed his husband looking worriedly at his phone. Courfeyrac frowned and approached him, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong, babe?” he whispered, grinning inwardly at the goosebumps that appeared where he’d pressed his lips a moment ago.</p><p> </p><p>Combeferre shook his head and smiled, glancing back down at his phone. “There was a terrorism scare yesterday. No one was hurt, but people are looking for people to blame again. The city is telling minority groups to be careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac frowned again. “Why are we forced to hide? Why do people automatically—this is our city too!”</p><p> </p><p>Combeferre shook his head. “I’m not Enjolras, but you know what he’d say.”</p><p> </p><p>The two of them grinned at each other before reciting at the same time: “And <em>this</em> is why the system is shit!” in a perfect imitation of their best friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, I have to go down to the office for a little bit to check on something. You’ll be okay here?” Combeferre asked, turning around to touch a hand to his husband’s cheek.</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac nodded, before planting a peck Combeferre’s cheek and handing him his keys.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you.” Combeferre smiled, returning the sentiment with a proper kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Courfeyrac grinned, waving him goodbye and already waiting for him to come back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ 1:30 PM that day~</strong>
</p><p>It had been so quiet since Combeferre had left so Courfeyrac did indeed jump when the phone rang. In his defense, he had customized ringtones for all of his friends (it always made him laugh when ‘Bootylicious’ by Destiny’s Child played only for Enjolras’ Ranting Voice™ to ruin the heaven that his Beyoncé’s voice when he picked up) and this number wasn’t one of them.</p><p> </p><p>So he ignored it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ 2:15 PM that day~</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't think you're ready for this jelly<br/>I don't think you're ready for this jelly<br/>I don't think you're ready for this<br/>'Cause my body too bootylicious for ya, babe</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yes. It took half the chorus for Courfeyrac to pick up the phone. In his defense, he was jamming to the song. And yes that is a valid reason to keep your angry friend waiting.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as he answered the phone and groaned out a hello, Enjolras was screaming.</p><p> </p><p>“Where the <em>fuck </em>are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac sat up straight on the sofa. “What do you mean—I’m in my house?” There was something off about Enjolras’ voice. He seemed angrier, angrier than normal. His voice was gravelly, thick, as if he’d just been crying.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing there?”</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac frowned, head swimming. “Enjolras, what is going on?”</p><p> </p><p>He could almost hear Enjolras’s realization.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you not know? You’re… you’re his husband they’re supposed to call you!”</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac was frantic now, hugging his knees with one arm as his other quivered trying to hold his phone. “W-what? Enjolras I don’t know what you’re talking about…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shit, Courf.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Courfeyrac was practically begging. “What the fuck happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Ferre…” Enjolras’s voice dropped down to a whisper, he was taking gulps of air and seemed to have started crying again. “It’s Ferre, he… he got… I was s-supposed to meet him for l-lunch… but by the time… there was so much blood…”</p><p> </p><p>Enjolras’s voice seemed to grow quieter and more muffled with every second because all Courfeyrac could think was <em>no no no no NO!</em></p><p> </p><p>Eventually, he mustered the quivering courage to ask: “Is he alive?”</p><p> </p><p>His best friend’s silence was enough to give him his answer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ 2:45 pm that day ~</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac flopped onto his bed—<em>their bed—</em>with a cry of nothing but anguish. He wanted to find whoever did this to love of his life and <em>beat the living shit</em> out of them. He wanted to kill them <em>all.</em></p><p> </p><p>And every time he closed his eyes he could see his husband’s face, smiling and bright and lovely. He remembered their last words to one another.</p><p> </p><p>Combeferre had told him he loved him, only for Courfeyrac to reply with: <em>I know.</em></p><p> </p><p>Well, he <em>hadn’t </em>known that he wouldn’t get another chance to tell Combeferre he loved him. That he had missed his chance that very morning!</p><p> </p><p>Courfeyrac buried his head in his knees, shuddering with every sob, murmuring to himself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love you, I love you, I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry.</em>
</p><p>Courfeyrac looked up and blinked once, or maybe twice. Everything blurred together and his vision grew foggy. He reached out into the air to call for something, <em>anything…</em> but instead he just whimpered as his head falls back on the pillow, stained with fading memories and pieces of things he couldn’t understand.</p><p> </p><p>This is how he was always meant to be in the end.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Alone.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry not sorry :) </p><p>Title is from Quiet Night at Home (Bare: A Pop Opera)</p><p>QUICK NOTE: I always headcanon 'Ferre as Desi, and as a Desi girl myself I want to make it ABSOLUTELY CLEAR that all Muslims are not terrorists and the very notion of that is deplorable. I am not Muslim myself, however people are killed all the time because they are Muslim or present to society's idea of what Muslims look like. Though not explicitly mentioned, this is why what happens to 'Ferre, happens.</p><p>Thank you for reading. Come say hi on tumblr @the-butter-churner :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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